


do something pretty while you can

by supercutegeeks



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercutegeeks/pseuds/supercutegeeks
Summary: laura's trying her best, and carmilla's just trying to figure things out. luckily for them, there's second period history class.





	1. we rule the school

You've sat next to Laura Hollis in history class every day for the past two years. Freshman year, you had history seventh period, near the end of the day. You were amazed at how she could keep her notes so organized and color-coordinated when all you wanted to do was go to sleep. 

You did that sometimes, just like you skipped class a couple of times to call Elle in the third-floor bathroom, sitting cross-legged on the countertop. The day afterwards, Laura would always give you a disapproving look when you walked in, hoodie falling off of your shoulder and pen tucked in your hair, but she'd move her polka-dotted backpack so you could sit down anyway. 

The two of you rarely talked, and even if you did it was only about the class. There was still something nice about it, though, this weird kind of connection you'd made with someone who somehow didn't see you like the asshole everybody else in the school did.

So when, at the beginning of second period on the first day of sophomore year, you walked into class to find Laura in the second-row seat furthest to the right, it's second nature to you to sit right next to her.

 / 

It's funny to you that even after you've changed so much, your life at school is the exact same as it'd been last year. You feel all messed up on the inside, like the way your hair had been tangled when you were six and you got a clump of gum in it so big you had to chop half of it off. But everyone at school still thinks of you as the same cold girl. You eat fries for lunch, alone on the curb of the parking lot.

Everyone except for Laura. She’s started passing notes to you during class, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your day every time she did another one of her dumb caricatures of the teacher or the other kids in your class. 

Sometimes you see her sitting with her friends around campus (weirdly, they’re pretty much all gingers). They look like they’re having fun, and occasionally it sends a little twinge of jealousy through you, but then you remind yourself that you only have yourself to blame.

/

It’s the second month of school now– that means forty-three days and counting since it happened. It hasn’t gotten any easier, and you don’t really know what to do about it.

You don’t talk to anyone anymore. You think maybe you’d saved up all your words for her and now that she’s gone you can’t give them to anyone else.

It hits you at the worst of times. Like, one minute you’re just trying to get through a dinner out with your mother, which is hard enough as it is, and the next some girl walks by wearing the same perfume that Elle used to “borrow” from her older sister and suddenly there are tears welling up in your eyes.

So you excuse yourself from the table, trying your best to ignore your mother’s disapproving glare (you’ll deal with that later), and walk to the bathroom. You press your palms into the edges of the sink and look at yourself as hard as you can in the dim lighting. You don’t think you like what you see, not anymore.

You thought you were alone in the bathroom, but then you hear the sound of a toilet flushing, and a stall door bangs open to reveal none other than Laura Hollis. She notices you almost immediately and catches your eye in the mirror. You try to read her expression– concern? No, it’s pity.

It makes you shrink in on yourself. You know that the tears are still obviously there in the corners of your eyes, and your face is red in a way you barely ever let it get. 

“Hey,” she says, and when you don’t reply, “Are you okay?” The sound of the tap running as she washes her hands breaks the thick silence.

“Yeah,” you say, even as your traitor mind screams  _ liar, liar, liar.  _ “I’m fine.”

You don’t know when it became so hard to be honest about such easy things.

“Okay,” Laura says cautiously. “If you say so.” She dries her hands with a paper towel and moves towards the door. “But I know– I know we’re not really friends, but if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m always here. And totally non-judgmental.” She opens the door, but pauses. “We follow each other on Instagram. You know. If you’re wondering how to… get in touch. You could.”

You just nod your head at that because you don’t really know what to do, but before the door closes on her you manage to get out a “Thanks, cutie.”

Maybe you can have something after all.

/

You’re in bed later that night, staring at your phone. It’s past midnight, but you hadn’t been able to go to sleep and then you’d started torturing yourself by way of old photos. You have pictures going all the way back to six years ago when you and Elle were just little kids. It makes you homesick in the worst kind of way, and really kind of lonely.

So you open up your Instagram app, just as you have four times already tonight, and click on Laura Hollis’ profile. You’d mainly used this thing to keep track of people from your old school after you’d switched, but Laura is one of the few people who’d requested you that you actually went to school with. You pull up the direct message screen and hesitate with your fingers over the letter keys. What would you even say?

You’re almost about to dismiss it as just another one of your dumb ideas when three little dots pop up on the left side of the screen, and you watch with disbelief as a message comes through from Laura, making your phone vibrate in your hand.

**@laura2theletter** : Hey, what’re you up to?

You smile at it in spite of yourself.

**@heycarmilla:** not much  
**@heycarmilla:** how’d u know i was up?

**@laura2theletter:** Magic :)  
**@laura2theletter:** Just kidding. You liked a picture a minute ago.

**@heycarmilla:** but why are u up? its like midnight

**@laura2theletter:** I’m mid- _ Buffy _ marathon. Ever seen it?

**@heycarmilla:** nah im not rly one for tv

**@laura2theletter:** OMG. You’re missing out on so much– You have to let me show you sometime.

**@heycarmilla:** ok lol. what’s it about?

And then you proceed to have a half-hour conversation with Laura until she finally admits that she has soccer practice the next morning and has to go to sleep. It’s weirdly easy to talk to her, and even though you’d thought she was kind of a nerd before, she really is kind of cool. When you say goodnight, you can’t help but hope you can talk to her again tomorrow.

/

You forget your notebook for history on Monday because your mother had been late for work and you wanted to stay out of her way, but Laura rips out a sheet of paper and says that if you want she can send you her notes, since you always seem really tired in class.

You thank her with a crooked grin and she just beams back at you.

As soon as the bell rings, you’re standing up to leave, but Laura taps your elbow.

“Hey,” she says, “would you maybe wanna come eat lunch with me today?” You must look confused, because she hurries on to explain: “It’s not that I think you’re  _ lonely _ , or anything, ad it’s perfectly fine if you want to eat alone I just thought I’d offer because…”

You try not to show the little bit of hope that immediately sprouts in your ribcage, but you think you might be smiling too much anyway. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

As soon as you turn around, Laura does an adorable little fist-pump thing because she thinks you can’t see, and suddenly you have something to look forward to.

/

Laura’s friends look suspicious when you approach their table at noon, bag of chips and apple in hand, but she gives them a weird little smile/glare combination that would look absolutely devilish on anyone else and stands up.

“Guys,” she says, and then pauses as if for emphasis, “This is Carmilla from my history class. I told you about her, remember?”

One of Laura’s friends, who you label as Ginger #1 inside your head simply because there’s three of them, like the punchline to some bad joke, snickers. “Yeah, Laura, of course we remember. You’ve only mentioned her like a million times.”

At that, you definitely feel your face flush, and a quick glance at Laura confirms her reaction’s the same. “Um…” she says, her voice going high pitched and uncomfortable. “Did I really?”

“Yep,” Ginger #1 says, and they look as if they’re about to continue with some more details that you would very much like to hear, although you’re not sure you’re ready for.

Thankfully, one of Laura’s other friends (Ginger #2?) saves the situation by extending her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Carmilla. Lola Perry, but you can just call me Perry.”

You shake her hand and try to ignore the judgmental stare she directs at the rips in your t-shirt. It’s a wonder you’re even talking to them, and frankly, you probably deserve their judgment anyway.

The final ginger gives you an even worse look, and suddenly you feel like you’ve done something to offend her, but before you have time to think of what, exactly, that might be, she’s giving you her hand too. “I’m Danny,” she says, confident without being loud.

Ginger #1 grins at you. “And I’m LaFontaine.”

You turn to the final member of the little  _ Friends _ -esque gang you’ve been presented with, a jock-looking boy whose basketball shorts and vacant stare make you wonder what on earth he’s doing with Laura and her friends. He doesn’t seem to be the sharpest tool in the shed, either, because you wait a full ten seconds before he snaps to attention. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m Kirsch. Well, Wilson Kirsch, technically, but I think the name Wilson makes me sound like my grandfather, so you should probably call me Kirsch.”

By the time these introductions are over, you feel like throttling at least half of them, but you take a seat next to Laura and open your bag of chips, offering her one which she gladly takes. 

“Okay you guys,” she says, chipper as ever. “Who’s going to the game on Friday?”

“Oh no,” you say, “not organized sports.” Just because you ate lunch with Laura once doesn’t mean you signed on to hang out with her little gaggle of friends for all of football season, and you tell her so. 

“But I think it would be fun!” she says, sort of pouty. “We can all hang out, get closer–” and at that, she nudges you in the side a little, which gives a completely unexpected little swoop in your stomach, “and be a part of the school community!”

“All things I hate,” you announce.

But apparently Danny and Kirsch are very into sports, and LaFontaine and Perry will go if everyone else is, and suddenly Laura is looking expectantly at you again and a little voice in your head is telling you just to do it, because aren’t you tired of being alone?

“Alright,” you say then. “But you have to buy me snacks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? writing a carmilla hsau fic in the year 2017? it's more likely than you think.  
> anyway i'm just gonna have fun with this and see what happens. title from "we rule the school" by belle and sebastian.
> 
> hmu on tumblr @gravel-tempo :)


	2. won't you let me walk you home

The actual football is about as interesting as you had predicted it to be, but you have to admit that there’s something about being out at night, living in a clichéd high school dream. Something that makes you sad in a very predictable way.

Laura does buy you snacks, a bag of Cheetos and a Coke that only exacerbates the chill of October. You sit next to her, on the end of their little group, and watch them instead of the players. Danny and Kirsch argue endlessly but good-naturedly, and Perry fusses over LaFontaine when they spill ketchup all over their shirt. You catch Laura looking affectionately at them more than once, and then realize that maybe you have the same expression on your face, too.

It’s dumb, because you’ve only been hanging out with Laura for like a week, but you feel like you’ve known her for a lot longer. Maybe even longer than your two years in history class together.

After the game, you all walk through the parking lot together. The rest of the group pairs up: Danny and Kirsch are still hotly debating something and Perry and LaFontaine have their arms entwined. That leaves you and Laura to walk awkwardly next to each other; you scuff the top of your Chuck Taylors against the parking curbs just to have something to do.

“So how’d you like it?” Laura says, breaking the silence eventually.

“It was okay,” you say. “But I still don’t like football.”

She laughs quietly at that and it’s sweet. “Well… do you like soccer? You should come see one of my games sometime, I mean they’re not happening right now ‘cause it’s only fall and fall’s the training season, the actual season’s winter, but–”

“I’d be happy to,” you say, half to shut her up and half because you actually would. 

You reach the end of the parking lot and turn to the right; you figure you’ll just walk home even though it’s late.

“Is someone picking you up?” Laura asks, her brow furrowing in concern when she sees that you’re leaving.

“Nah,” you say, “I’m just gonna walk. It isn’t that far.”

“But it’s late,” she says. “Way too dangerous to be out here alone.”

You shrug. “I’ll manage.” You always do.

“At least let me get your number so I can see if you’ve gotten home safe,” Laura says, pulling her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket.

You smirk as you take it. “Are you always this smooth with the ladies?”

It’s funny how easy it is to get Laura flustered, and she turns bright red just from that. It’s a little adorable, but mostly just amusing, like the puffy unicorn stickers that you notice as you type your number in.

“There you go, creampuff,” you say as you hand it back to her. “Guess I’ll see you on Monday then, right?”

“Yeah, Monday,” she says, still a little pink as she pivots to follow Danny. “See ya.”

You walk home quickly and make sure to respond to her text when it comes, and you save Laura in your phone as the little nerd emoji.

/

When you walk into class on Monday, Laura is crying. Well, she’s not really crying, but it’s obvious that she just was: her eyes are rimmed with red and puffy and she’s holding her sleeve over her mouth as her head rests on her desk. 

You approach cautiously. Cheering people up has never really been your specialty, but everyone else is ignoring Laura and you don’t want to screw this up or make her more upset.

“Hey,” you say, sliding into the chair beside her. You debate putting your hand on top of hers and then decide it’d probably be too much, so you leave it a couple of inches away. “What’s up?" 

She looks up at you miserably. “I failed a math test.”

You let out a breath, pressure you didn’t even know was there leaving your chest. “Oh.”

“I know,” she says, and sniffles a little bit, “you probably fail tests all the time or something, and you’re gonna tell me it’s not a big deal, but it is to me, and my dad…”

“Well,” you say. “I am a little offended that you think I fail tests all the time.”

She gives you a weak glare. “You don’t even take notes.” 

You continue as if she hadn’t spoken. “But it really isn’t the end of the world, and you don’t have to tell your dad, do you?”

“Well, I kinda do because I _failed_ it and you have to have a parent sign it.”

“Let me see?” you ask, and she slides over a few sheets of paper. They’re marked up in red and at the top of the page there’s a big red circled _D_ and _Have a parent sign this and see me._

You pull out a pen from your pocket and ask, “What’s your dad’s name?”

“Sherman,” she says, and before she realizes what’s happening, you forge a little signature for her dad on the provided line.

“Carmilla!” she says, shocked, even though class has already started. “You can’t– that’s _lying_!”

“I’m helping you,” you say. “Now you don’t have to tell your dad, and he’ll never know because we are going to get your grade up.”

“We?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “What days are you free after school?”

/

Your first impression of Laura’s house is that it is so much _lighter_ than yours. It’s painted bird’s-egg blue, and the abundance of windows give it a quality you can only describe as airy.

Laura doesn’t have siblings, so the pictures by the stairwell and in the hallway to her room are all of her. They look like a kind of shrine to her youth: grinning on the first day of kindergarten, winning a spelling bee, an action shot from a soccer game. Laura looks happy in each of them, and you think that she must have had a wonderful childhood.

You get a twinge of longing, then. There is nothing like this for you at home, but they remind you of Elle, and the childhood you’d had together that had felt so _right_ , just as warm as the pictures here.

Laura’s room is simple: bed, bookshelves, dresser, and a desk that she clears off so you can sit beside her.

“Okay, cupcake,” you say. “What’ve we got tonight?”

“Conic sections,” Laura says, pulling out her books and a pencil. “Like, parabolas and stuff, which I’ve learned, but now there’s foci and chords and–” She shakes her head, frustrated.

“Well, let’s not get too overwhelmed,” you say. “Show me some practice problems; we can get started on those.”

You slide in closer to her, your heads almost meeting over the pre-calculus textbook, and correct her work in low tones. You’re acutely aware of how close you are to Laura: her hair smells a little bit like strawberries.

The two of you work for hours, and when Laura eventually gets the hang of it you stand up and walk around her room. There’s not as much of a shrine in here, but there are a few soccer and debate trophies on top of her dresser with “first place” proudly carved into them.

“Hope you don’t have any sex toys in here, Hollis,” you say as you pull open a drawer just to see her turn around and yell at you despite the blush on her face.

Her bookshelves are filled with equal parts classics and children’s novels, more than will fit properly on the shelf so she’s got them piled up around and on top. You slide one out and go sit on her bed to read.

It’s a comfortable quiet, with soft music playing in the background and the beginnings of sunset lighting up the pale walls. You’ve missed this, the simple fact of occupying space with another person without any tension or fear.

At six, Laura pushes herself back from her desk and throws her pencil down. “That’s quite enough of that.” She turns to you. “Do you wanna… stay for dinner? We can watch a movie or something. Or do you have to go home… I don’t want to keep you or anything.”

As long as your mother doesn’t see you coming back, you don’t think she’ll miss you. “Sure,” you say. “Your pick.”

You go downstairs just as her father comes home, and she introduces you shyly. “This is Carmilla. She’s been helping me with my math homework.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say. However antisocial you might be at school, it doesn’t mean that you don’t still have manners.

“Carmilla,” he says, and shakes your hand firmly. “You can call me Sherman. I’m glad to see Laura’s making some _smart_ friends these days.”

“Dad,” Laura says with a little whine in her voice (which, for some reason, sounds cute rather than annoying), “My other friends are smart, they’re just a little…”

“Weird?” Laura’s dad says, but it’s teasing and kind.

Laura rolls her eyes but smiles too. “Carmilla was going to stay for dinner; is that okay?”

You’re ready to apologize, but he agrees, easily, and again you are reminded of Elle and long afternoons stretching into nights. “Mexican okay for you girls?”

Mr. Hollis–Sherman–goes out to get the food, and Laura drags you into her living room. She has stacks of DVD’s underneath the television, and skims through them eagerly, calling out the names as you curl up into her couch.

You end up watching _The Incredibles_ , because you’ve never seen it before and Laura swears that it’s her favorite Pixar movie. She teases you the whole time because she thinks you look like Violet, but you don’t really mind.

When Mr. Hollis (you can’t call him Sherman, it’s too weird for you) comes back with the food, he joins you in front of the TV instead of making you sit at the dinner table. You haven’t seen anything around that would signify a mother or another sibling, so you figure it’s just the two of them and Mr. Hollis has gotten used to giving in to Laura.

The night passes easily, and although Mr. Hollis offers to drive you, you walk instead. Laura hugs you goodbye on her front porch and you sink into it after a second. It keeps you warm the whole way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming to you live from key west, the southernmost point of the united states! sorry it's been so long since I updated, school has been extremely busy but I'm happy to say that I am finally on spring break. chapter title is from "thirteen" by big star– i also really like the cover by big deal. 
> 
> as always, feel free to come talk to me on tumblr– i'm @osufjan now. :)


	3. hard feelings

History class has been canceled for the day because your teacher is sick and somehow, incredibly, they couldn’t find a substitute. So you and Laura go to the library together with all the intentions of doing homework.

Halfway through the period, though, all of that has been abandoned and you’re watching cute baby animal videos with Laura on her iPhone 6+ (you’d wondered how that even fit into her small hands, but she says she likes it for movies). You’d pretended be above them, because you have a bit of a reputation to uphold, but Laura had called you over to look at a black cat one that “looks just like you, Carm,” and then you’d gotten hooked. Even if it was a little embarrassing to be compared to a kitten.

“Oh,” you say when the video switches to one of a golden retriever puppy on a beach, “that looks just like El–no one.”

Laura turns to you, pausing the video, and gives you an odd look. “It looks like no one?”

“Well, no,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “It looks like someone but… you wouldn’t know her.”

Laura looks at you critically but doesn’t push the subject. You worry, though, that she had seen your goofy grin when you thought about Elle and then the way it had fallen off your face.

You open your mouth to say something, because you’re working on trusting people and Laura is probably your best friend now, because you think it might be time to let go of Elle a little bit, but a librarian walks over and hisses at you to put in earbuds, and the moment’s lost.

Someday, you promise yourself. Someday, you’ll tell her.

/

Someday ends up coming sooner than you’d planned. Because, stupidly, you’ve never unfollowed Elle on Instagram, and the weekend before Halloween she posts a picture of herself and another girl. They’re dressed as Sandy and Danny from Grease, and it’s ridiculous–Elle’s blonde hair piled wildly on top of her head–but it makes your heart ache. It’s part of your history: the two of you had watched that movie together for the first time and even sang some of the songs together, taping them on Elle’s dad’s camcorder.

But now Elle’s pouting for the camera and kissing that other girl’s cheek and you really want to throw your phone at something until you remember that Laura is sitting next to you. You’re in Starbucks after school, a weekly tradition you have now with Laura and sometimes Danny, but today it’s just the two of you and now Laura is giving you a very worried look. You try to divert her attention by taking a sip of your coffee, but Laura’s eyes don’t leave you.

“Is everything alright, Carmilla?” she asks, forever cautious and considerate.

“Yeah,” you say, clenching your fists before you force yourself to relax them. 

“I don’t want to pry or anything,” Laura says, “but you don’t really look… alright.”

You sigh– might as well do it now, rip off the band-aid. You don’t exactly want to tell Laura, but then again, you don’t usually want to do any kind of emotional confrontation. It’s a wonder you’ve gotten so far in this friendship. But it isn’t fair to Laura, really, so you gear yourself up for an incredibly unpleasant conversation.

“I just saw a picture of my, um, ex,” you say. It’s weird to refer to Elle like that, and you realize that you haven’t told anyone about her until now.

 

“Oh. You… have an ex,” Laura says, nodding as if to cement this information in her head. “What’s their name?”

Even in the midst of your panic, you take note of the gender-neutral pronoun, filing it away to your list of things that are special about Laura. 

“Her name is Elle.” 

Laura’s eyebrows go up the tiniest amount at the “her”, which you also file away. Just in case. “How long were you guys together?” she asks.

“A year and a half,” you say, tearing off the corner of a napkin to avoid meeting Laura’s eyes. “But we were best friends for years before that.” 

“I’m sorry,” Laura says softly, and extends her hand slightly across the table. 

Half of you wants to take it and the other half wants to run out of the room. But Laura’s eyes, less pitying and more kind, make the decision for you and so you slip your fingers into hers, feeling very foolish as you do so.

“We broke up at the beginning of the year,” you say. “When you saw me in the bathroom…”

“Oh,” Laura says, almost whispering. “That makes sense.”

“It’s okay now, though,” you say, not wanting to seem too vulnerable. “I just miss her sometimes.” You try to play it off casually, even though there’s about a twenty percent chance that you might start to cry.

“Of course you do,” says Laura. “You had years with her.”

You just nod. You don’t trust yourself to say anything more now, so you and Laura sit quietly, letting the coffee shop hum around you.

“What was it like, though?” Laura asks after a few minutes pass.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… being in love.”

You sigh. Leave it to Laura to ask questions like this. But she’s looking at you earnestly, and you can tell she’s never dated anyone and she’s really just curious.

“It was… it was everything,” you say with such reverence that you hate yourself a little. You know that it doesn’t exactly make sense, what you said, but Laura seems to understand anyway. 

And when you stand up to leave, eventually, she gives you an extra-long hug before she goes.

/

Laura doesn’t drink. You know this because when you call her at midnight one Saturday, slurring your words a little, she asks you incredulously if you’ve been drinking alcohol.

“What do you think, cupcake?”

You can hear her sigh over the phone. “You shouldn’t be doing that, Carm.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Congratulations! You’ve figured out exactly why I’m doing it.”

“What’s wrong, Carmilla?” Laura asks, her voice serious now.

You look up at the sky. You’re sitting on your roof, which is probably both incredibly stupid and incredibly sad, but you’re not looking to die or anything. You just like the way the stars look when you’re all alone.

“I know it’s dumb,” you say. “But she doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“Elle?”

“Yeah.”

You fall silent for a moment, but Laura doesn’t hang up the phone. “I just feel… alone, sometimes, I guess,” you say, feeling even more dumb because you would never say this sober. “We were so close to each other and now no one even likes me. She liked me.”

“I like you,” Laura says, very softly.

“Are you gonna stay, though?” you say. “Because I’m starting to think no one does.”

“Of course I’ll stay. And I mean it. I really do… like you.”

“Okay,” you say, breathing out into the cold air. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Laura says, unreasonably sweet despite how annoying you’re being.

“Calling you up at midnight and basically demanding validation, for starters.”

Laura laughs. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Just–thank you,” you say. “You’re a good friend.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Karnstein,” Laura says, and the heaviness of the moment is over.

“I should probably let you go to sleep, right? And get off this roof,” you say, making your way back down to the window with your phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder.

“You were on the roof?!”

/

It gets better, though, the way you’re dealing with Elle. Laura knows now, so she makes you turn off your phone every time the two of you are together. And that, too, becomes more frequent. In addition to your standing Starbucks date, Laura invites you to all of her gang’s little get-togethers. Although some of the gingers still give you the creeps, it’s mostly nice to just have friends again.

So really, everything is going just fine, until you see her again. Elle lives across the state, so you’d thought it wouldn’t be very likely, but suddenly you’re crossing the courtyard after school and she’s there, with her floaty blonde hair and the school uniforms you used to both wear.

You’re praying that she doesn’t see you, so that you can just go home and pretend like none of it ever really happened. But of course, she does, and when her eyes meet yours they widen in surprise.

You wonder if she thinks about you too.

She’s standing with a group of other girls in the same uniform from your old school, and you can tell she’s thinking about coming over to you, and you’re kind of panicking. 

But luckily, someone taps your shoulder, and when you turn around, it’s Laura. No exaggeration, you’ve probably never been this happy to see someone in your entire life.

“Laura,” you hiss, talking quickly, “that’s her.”

“Who?” Laura asks, confused.

“Elle. The tall, blonde one?”

“Oh,” she says, eyebrows going up. “Are you going to go talk to her?”

“Well, no, but I was hoping… you would?”

“Why? I don’t know her.”

“To create a diversion,” you say, hating yourself a little. “So I don’t have to talk to her.”

At that, Laura bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, slightly indignant.

“You just pretend to be so badass,” Laura says, still laughing, “but you can’t even go over and talk to this girl who used to be your friend.”

“It’s complicated,” you huff. “There were very complicated feelings involved.”

“Okay,” Laura says, starting to get her laughter under control. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“Thank you,” you say, throwing your arms around her before you can help yourself.

“Woah,” she says. “If I’d have known that saving you from your ex was all it took to get a little affection, I would’ve done it earlier.”

“Don’t worry, cupcake,” you say. “You’ve already saved me.”

Laura smiles, blushing, and you could stare at her a little longer, but you can tell that Elle’s looking over at you. 

“Can you go?” you ask. “Please? Just tell her I’m sick or something so I can’t talk to her.”

“Okay,” Laura says, “but I’m not forgetting this, dork.”

You guess you are a dork because you watch Laura walk away with just a little bit of awe, and, you suppose, badasses just don’t do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update schedule of once every two months is truly awful, so i'm sorry everyone! but i hoped you guys enjoyed the chapter & fingers crossed i can get another one out in the next couple of weeks, since it's summer. :) chapter title is from lorde's "hard feelings/loveless" on her new album melodrama, which i highly recommend! 
> 
> & of course the obligatory self-promo: hmu on tumblr @osufjan!


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